Bruised body parts, Barney and the Boston Marathon
I faced a few concerns before embarking on an accelerated training program to prepare for the Boston marathon later this month. At the age of 49, would my legs tolerate the increased pounding? Would our dogs continue to get enough exercise with my adjusted training schedule? Would I stick to my commitments to drink “slight” beer and avoid rich pastries for two months?
In mid-February I discovered that I would be running my first marathon in Boston and I would blog about my experience as part of WCSN.com’s coverage of its unprecedented global webcast of the race. Up to that point, I had maintained a comfortable 15 miles a week of running and soccer playing combined with some strength training.
The answer to my first question came quickly. A mere couple of days before finding out about running Boston, I strained a calf muscle while performing some back skips as a cool down from an early-morning run. Normally, that would prompt me to avoid running for at least a week. But to my pleasant surprise, the calf recovered quicker than anticipated.
I attempted my first “long” run, a leisurely seven-mile point-to-point jaunt on a running trail in Northern Virginia, a few days after straining the calf muscle. My pit bull-Labrador mix Kaylee trotted trance-like by my side. After a comfortable four miles, the calf started to tighten. I continued slowly for another mile until the discomfort forced me to stop running. I walked the last two miles home, leaving Kaylee, capable of jogging 10 miles comfortably in such cool conditions, thoroughly unfulfilled and me forlorn and wondering if my first Boston Marathon experience died during its embryonic stage.
Miraculously, only tightness remained two days later. A few days of cross training and two weeks of intensive chiropractic-led therapy solved the problem. I ran nine miles the following Saturday and 12 miles the week after. I felt relieved and revived, and have maintained a comfortable training routine that last week reached 35 miles.
My concern about one of our dogs lingers.
Barney the Beagle still struggles with his disrupted routine. Barney normally lasts about three miles before he either gets bored or slows down to the point of inconvenience. A low center of gravity accentuates his laboring. At the end of those ventures, we normally slow to a plodding walk.The solution is to reduce Barney’s participation to four days a week. On one of those days, I run with both dogs for three miles, put them in the car with plenty of water and continue alone for at least a couple of more miles. Another day, I bring Barney out for a two-mile run after finishing five miles with Kaylee. Barney also joins Kalyee and me for two relaxed inline skating sessions on recovery days.
Still, some discomfort persists. Dog lovers know the brief emotional trauma dogs can inflict on their owners when they know there are about to be excluded from a group activity to which they’ve become accustomed and enjoy. More so with beagles, which possess a more pronounced separation anxiety than most other dogs.
In the past, when Barney sensed I would leave him behind, his eyes bled with distress as he stared up at me, worrying that I might abandon him forever. Or so it seemed. Once left alone, he reacted to the distress by howling incessantly for minutes, waking my wife Sharon from her predawn slumber. How did I resolve the crisis?
Pig ears. The crisp pork pieces shaped like a pig ear are considered the potato chips for dogs. The site of them places Barney in a freaky frenzy. As I slide out the door, feeling diminished pet guilt, a thoroughly distracted Barney engorges them with a ravenous intensity. The cries of separation pain have stopped, much to Sharon’s and my pleasures.
Pleasure prevented me from adhering to my plan to drink only “slight” beer through the marathon. It lasted about one week. The site of a Bass Ale draft or a chilled Heineken bottle have proven too compelling, especially at the end of a robust activity. Further, due to “slight” beer’s less-filling trait, I drank more than I normally would with regular beer, offsetting the reduced overall caloric intake.
I lasted almost two weeks without a donut or rich pastry before a sinister co-worker brought a box of donut holes into our office. How impairing could one donut hole be? Further, when our COO Carlos, a fitness fanatic, commented that there’s nothing wrong with eating one donut as he munched on the sweet morsel, I complied. Three times.
With glazed sugar sprinkled on our lips, Carlos and I then agreed that moderation is the key. So I’ve reduced my rich pastry intake to about two per week, excluding the piece of chocolate cake I consumed at a dinner party last Saturday night. And a leftover piece the next day at home. I couldn’t let it go to waste.
Besides, I figured I’d run it off.
Next week: Running once again consumes my life.